by Lee Taylor
"Turn in here." Ira pointed down the driveway, forcing Connor to make a split second decision. To crash or not?
If he went past the drive, they'd brace themselves, suspicious. His chance evaporated. He turned in, his grip on the wheel so hard his hands cramped, loathing himself for letting the thugs get the upper hand again.
Mary. What have I done?
Sick at heart, he turned to look at her as they got out of the car. Her head hung, shoulders sagged, and her body shook uncontrollably.
He had to say something to give her hope, but nothing came to mind. He followed her wordlessly into the house, where Ira confiscated the scout knife.
They were allowed to change out of their soaked clothes— first Mary, then himself. He put on her father's trail gear.
Tied up again, they took their place against the wall. Mary still shook with cold, so Ira unzipped her sleeping bag and let her crawl in. Connor looked at her exhausted face as she tried to sit upright beside him.
"Get some rest," he urged. "You need it. You can use my shoulder as a pillow."
She took him up on it, but soon lay down with her head in his lap and went to sleep.
Outside Ira paced off a distance to a small tree, cut away some bark to make a target, and began to throw.
He carried two knives and threw first one and then the other. He drew them from their sheaves at his waist and ankle with the speed of a western gunfighter, hitting the target with the precision of a sharpshooter.
Throw, throw, retrieve. Throw, throw, retrieve. Different distances, different angles. Deadly accurate.
Ramone watched from where he sat, his lips drawn into a fierce scowl. A cigarette smoldered unheeded between his fingers, and he tapped his foot to the beat of the music that blared through his headphones. Connor wondered what kept the two working together— Judd's authority, or the value of the chest.
His shoulder ached where he had fended off the boulder, and he shifted his position to ease it. He located the nail in the wall and started rubbing the rope against it.
He felt tired, weak from fighting the river and the cold, but mostly tired from the debilitating effect of defeat. His mind circled back to their aborted attempt.
He had been so positive they’d make it, he hadn't planned for failure. Defeat left him depressed, wallowing in a mire of self-recrimination. He had never felt this way before, having never failed. It was a new experience for him.
All his life he had had a smooth path. Things that challenged other men hadn’t challenged him. He had been a straight A student, gone to Annapolis, been first in everything.
As a star athlete, he had been lauded and feted. Victory came easily. Under his leadership, his teams always won the championships. His playing always was the best. Whatever he attempted, he succeeded in doing.
Except this.
This time counted more than all the rest put together. This time the stakes were deadly. Yet this time, he had failed.
Mary stirred, mumbling in her sleep, and he stiffened lest he wake her. He had to snap out of his depression. He must plan another escape.
He wasn't giving up. He’d outwit these men, stay alive, and rescue Mary. But he must be more careful. He could’ve killed her in the river.
Thank you Lord, for keeping Mary alive.
Connor shrugged his shoulders, trying to keep his bruised muscles from tightening up. He found it hard to be inactive. Working on the rope helped a little. Sitting still for several hours made him restless, but he wasn’t going to wake up Mary.
When she lifted her head three hours later, she looked at him with such despair, it threatened to pull him down, too. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to fight against the mentality of defeat.
"Did Ramone hurt you, back on the road?" he asked, voicing the concern he had felt ever since he had seen her unconscious. "Did he knock you out?"
"No. We struggled, but he didn't hit me. I remember being terrified, of feeling so lost... you had gotten free and I hadn't. Then things went black— I must have passed out."
Connor nodded. It explained why Ramone hadn't shot him. To have Mary black out scared him.
"We must stay ready."
"What makes you think we'll get another chance?"
"There's always—"
"It's no use." She slumped lower against him. "You have to face it— sometimes the dragon wins."
"What does that mean?"
"The dragon wins, instead of the knight. Haven't you see the cartoon, where the dragon is picking his teeth with the knight's lance? All that remains of the knight is his helmet and a shoe. And a horseshoe, if I remember right."
"The knight is dead?"
"Of course. The dragon ate him."
"We aren't."
"We might as well be."
"Where there's life, there's hope. You know that."
"Once Judd gets back, what’re we to do?"
"Hum. What else do you have in your pack? It might still be a source of escape.”
"I have another knife. I always carry two, but it's small and buried in with my kitchen items. I’d have a hard time retrieving it, I'm afraid."
"You have to tr—"
"Wait. I have a PLB, a personal location beacon."
Connor caught his breath. She was unbelievable. "A locator?"
"Yes. There's also one in my dad's things, but I removed the batteries after he died." She sighed. "I keep everything packed, ready to go, so I can leave at a moment's notice. I always take along new batteries. I don't know how much power my used ones have left in them."
"If you can turn your locator on, someone’ll have to come here to check it out. The police, or state patrol."
He could see her spirits rise at the thought. "Right. It'll bring them here."
"The police will be looking for us by now. Someone may have noticed the van and given them a description of it."
"I hope so."
Her voice was sweetly agreeable. Too bad she couldn't have been this way when he first met her.
Mary’s heart-shaped face was streaked with dirt, her hair— still damp from the river— a tangled mass. Her grin was a little crooked and a sprinkling of freckles lay across her nose. But the life was back in her eyes, making her beautiful. Connor rejoiced when he saw it.
"How's your eye?" she asked, turning to give his face a closer examination, making him conscious of his unshaven appearance.
"Much better. I should see clearly by tomorrow. The swelling's going down."
"It's purple and yellow," she said, wrinkling her nose.
Connor had to grin. She didn't appreciate his shade of eye color, he could tell. He wished he could shave and wash off the dirty river water. He liked being clean, showered, and freshly dressed— at his best. His present rumpled condition made him uncomfortable.
“Ask for a towel to wrap your hair. Then you can turn on the locator.”
“Good idea.”
“Ira,” she called. “Can I speak to you a minute?”
14
Mary didn’t get to the locator in her pack until after Judd and Wes returned to the farmhouse at eight, laden with enough equipment to climb Everest. When they untied her to sort the gear, she turned on the locator, gave a brief nod to Connor, and continued with her work.
Someone would be sent to check to see who was injured or lost or had accidentally turned it on. Connor and Mary just had to stay in one spot long enough to be found. She hoped the patrolman who came would use caution.
“Done?” Judd looked at her from his position on the one chair.
“I’m not sure....” She glanced around. Something was missing.
“Ramone, Ira, put this in the van. We’ll drive to the trail tonight and move out first thing in the morning.”
“We ain’t et,” Wes protested.
“We’ll stop at a drive-in and grab some hamburgers—enough for tonight and tomorrow's breakfast.”
Mary looked at the empty paper bags piled in one corner and then at
Judd. “Where are the shovels? The collapsible poles? And the avalanche transceivers?” she asked, hoping they were still in the van.
“I didn’t get them. I don’t want any beacon advertising where we’re at. You’d turn one on to see if you could draw people to us.”
Mary looked at him with disbelief, even though she had just done that very thing. “No one travels backcountry without a transceiver. That could cost all of us our lives.”
“I told you we should’ve got them, boss,” Wes complained. “Now we gotta go back.”
“No,” Judd snapped, tilting back his chair.
Wes gazed around wildly. “But—”
“Your miserable life isn’t worth saving, anyway,” Ramone said with a sneer. “What’s the matter— scared?”
“Of course not. But the store clerks said the avalanche warning is ‘extreme.’ No one’s to go into the mountains.”
“We’re not going back,” Judd said. “They found Mary’s neighbor.”
“Did anyone ID us?” Ira asked.
“Didn’t sound like it. Some old biddy claims she heard a woman scream. That’s all.”
"We can get an early start tomorrow, after breakfast," Mary suggested, wanting to give the police a chance to come. They’d probably respond better if the locator wasn’t moving.
"I'm not driving up there in the daylight. Just in case the police are looking for the van.”
“We could use the car,” she said.
“Not enough room. Let’s roll.”
“But...but we’ll sleep better here, where it’s warm,” Mary protested. “I’m tired.”
“So what? Move out.”
Sick at heart, Mary watched the men carry the packs outside, including the one with the locator. She hoped the batteries lasted until the police caught up.
Judd stopped at a Laundromat to dry out her parka, throwing tennis balls in with it to keep the down from matting. Mary asked for the balls and Judd got them by breaking into a sporting goods store.
They threw the rest of the wet clothes in a dumpster, ate, and then retrieved her dry coat. Afterwards, they moved her up to the front of the van between Judd and Ramone.
Judd showed her where they were on a street map and she navigated them along I-90 to the Pratt Lake quadrant, an area of some sixty square miles which she knew by heart. She could wander around this part of the Cascade mountain range for days if necessary.
If she had asked Ramone to turn off fifteen miles further up the interstate, they could’ve driven to her father's cabin in the Denny Creek area. Instead she took him to where a Forest Service road left the freeway and entered the Snoqualmie National Forest.
They soon came to a long metal pole which spanned the road, forbidding vehicle entry to all but the few people who had mines back in the area.
They parked in front of the metal barrier and slept the rest of the night. When there was just light enough to see, Judd rousted them all out into the freezing air.
Mary had eaten lots of things for breakfast but a cold hamburger hadn’t been one of them. Shivering, she stamped her moccasin-clad feet upon the frozen ground and took another bite of the dry meat, intent on getting any nourishment she could.
Heavy white frost covered the dense evergreen forest surrounding them, casting its silver coat over all but the six intruders. The hills shone white— ghostly silhouettes against a darker sky.
Mary had put on her thermal underwear before leaving the farm house, but her metabolism was still low at six in the morning and she moved around to warm herself up. Still, she was glad to get out of that house with its filth. It had been weakening her mind.
“We walk from here," she announced, forcing down the last of her barely edible food. "This road is no longer maintained.”
"We'll see about that," Judd snapped, and waved a hand to Wes, who strode over and studied the heavy lock
"No problem, Boss. We cain't shoot it open— but I kin blow it."
Judd stared up the narrow road, overgrown on both sides. "How much further could we drive?" he demanded, turning to Mary.
Mary glanced at the range of mountains surrounding them, taking strength from their beauty. The road itself appeared clear, although how far she had no way of knowing. A week of warm January weather had melted away the snowpack at the lower altitudes leaving deep pockets of snow on the north sides of the larger boulders. They appeared as ghostly white masses in the half-light of morning. Higher up, the snow rose six to ten feet deep and the tree branches were covered.
Mary didn't want the van to go further along the road. She wanted it left where the State Patrol might find it on a routine check.
This morning she had used her belt buckle to scratch her name on the locator, plus the words, "help-kidnapped." She had then tucked the PLB under one of the seats.
If the State Patrol was alerted soon enough, they might catch the group out on the open road— before they even started up the trail. Her bright orange parka was easy to spot, even if the military-issue clothes of Judd and his men weren’t.
Still, if she lied about the distance, Judd would know it as soon as they walked up the road. She didn't want him to get too suspicious.
"Quite a few miles, probably," she answered. "It depends on the snow line.”
Wes swore loudly. “That’s no good, boss.”
“Right.” Judd pointed over at the gate. "Blow it. I don't want to have to walk any further than necessary.”
Mary watched as Wes pulled a box from the van and began to prepare some plastic explosive. It looked like the gate wasn't going to delay them any, so she tried another tack.
"The Forest Service checks these gates, you know. If they find the lock blown, they're going to come looking.”
“I’ll chance that.”
“Fine. But if it snows while we're gone— and it's supposed to— you won't be able to drive back. It's happened to lots of people, even with a four-wheel drive.”
“If they check the gate, they’ll see the van,” Ira observed.
Mary shrugged. "They'll think it belongs to some hikers. Turn it around before we leave, so you won't have to do it if it snows. I'd like to be able to ride back to Seattle. Or did you leave the car somewhere close by?”
“No.”
The other three looked at Judd, who stared suspiciously at Mary. He must have believed her, for he ordered Ramone to turn the van around. It was already covered with frost and Ramone had to scrape the windshield first.
Mary cheered silently in relief. She didn’t know if it was going to snow or not, but the longer she kept these men in the open, the better.
Lord, I’m going to need Your help. I don’t know why You haven’t helped me so far, but I’m asking, please, for help. For both me and Connor.
She caught Connor’s gaze as he rubbed his wrists, red and chaffed from the bonds he had worn all night. The fiery glare she had seen in his eyes at their first meeting was banked now and a question lay in their dark depths.
She nodded slightly, trying to let him know that she had managed to hide the PLB. His answering smile lifted her spirits.
Mary felt a glow of pleasure seeing Connor wear her father's gear. Warren had been as tall as Connor, although not as broad in the chest or as small in the waist. Still the clothes fit well.
Search and rescue work required one to be prepared to go anywhere, in any weather. Her father had been very selective in his equipment. It would give Connor the protection he needed, perhaps save his life.
She gazed at him in admiration. He had tried to save her, over and over. She owed him her life.
Now it was her turn to lead. She intended to use the Pratt River trail which started several miles up the road. It led into a series of small alpine lakes.
These thugs were in control down here, but once in the mountains, on snowshoes, they’d be out of their element. They’d have to follow whatever route she chose.
Since these men would kill her after they had the chest, she’d draw out the j
ourney until she and Connor escaped. It was okay with her if they never arrived at the cabin.
"How do the boots fit?" she asked Connor, putting her moccasins into her pack.
“Okay. The heavy socks take care of any minor differences.”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. The four men were talking among themselves, getting ready, not paying her much attention. "You're better off wearing those old boots, you know.”
“Why?”
“Because new boots rub your heels.”
“They do, don’t they?" Connor cast a glance at Ramone, struggling to get his on. "I don't know about these wool knickers, though. My jeans—"
"Would wick the water clear up to your waist. Any cotton will. Wool’s the only fabric for what we're about to do. Wool, and goose down for warmth, and polypropylene to draw moisture away from your skin. Any serious mountain backpacker will tell you so. The knickers allow freedom of movement."
"But they're wearing jeans under their insulated ski pants, and cotton long-johns—"
"They are, aren't they?" She smiled and Connor nodded, smiling back with sudden insight. He was beginning to get the picture.
The mountains weren’t friendly to pilgrims who treated them lightly, especially in the winter. She had outfitted the men so thoroughly, they didn't realize she had omitted some vital information.
“Remind me not to play poker with you,” Connor deadpanned.
Her smile turned to a quick laugh as she finished tying her boots. The sudden release of tension jolted along her shoulders, and she realized how tight they were. Not a good way to travel. She shrugged, working the muscles, seeking to ease them.
Connor’s mild teasing helped her throw off the debilitating influence of their kidnappers. It felt good to have a fellow conspirator— a comrade in arms. His presence removed some of the pressure since he was also considering ways to get away from Judd and his murderous crew.
She smiled. "When they start to mention their wet jeans, you need to complain also. Same with the sleeping bags, or they'll take yours away from you.”
“Count on it. What else should I know?”
“Stay dry. Especially your feet. Try not to work up a sweat. And make sure you drink lots of water.”